Follower of the Flaming Torch
by beatlee
Summary: ONE SHOT The moments before Severus Snape's death play out in this short piece. Providing a sort of closure for the boy whom no one cared for, the professor who was mocked, whose actions have been contradictory, who always seemed the culprit.


**None of the Harry Potter characters belong to me**

He knew the ways the Dark Lord worked. It did cross his mind that he would _eventually_ die in the hands of the Dark Lord when his secret, the unspoken but potent driving force that preserved and justified his undying loyalty to _the other side_, was out. It just didn't occur to him that it would be so soon…there are so many tasks yet to be completed, so many dreams, dormant and unknown, light years away from fulfillment.

He gave another shudder as his pulse weakened; almost threatening to cease. The temperature in the Shrieking Shack seemed to plummet drastically with each drop of blood that flowed out of his wound, slowly but steadily. Severus Snape was at his most vulnerable at that moment. His mind, no longer guarded by Occlumency—for there was no reason, nothing, to hide now, wandered to the sole person who can, and has, brought him to his current fate. Time and again, he had thought he could shut her out—her opinions, choices, behavior, and her perverse _denial_ of him. He had even so painstakingly let himself believe that this way, he could be his own self—his body, mind and soul, governed only by himself. But he could not _ever_ have been more wrong. The truth was that, he had so strongly thought her his, that _he himself_ became her own, regardless of how time and space stood like a wall between them. Occasionally, he entertained the thought that being in such close contact with the Dark Lord might put him back to where he first started—a dissatisfied, bigoted soul, seeking misconstrued grandeur, just like the rest of the Death Eaters…

But she never failed in bringing him back; back to the burial ground he had dug 18 years ago, to conceal his grief, remorse, guilt, and love. It did not help either, having to see those same beautiful green eyes he loved, reincarnated in the body of Harry Potter, glint in mischief as they saw through the pranks James would take pride in. Those glinting green eyes of Harry's that had sent him to countless fits of anger and jealousy were the same emerald eyes that made his heart gallop with elation, anticipation. Nevertheless, every chance occurrence with Harry had, undeniably, managed to remind him of the painful past. The past he believed he could have changed, the tragedy he might have prevented.

Hearing a sound now, Snape struggled to open his eyes. The dimly lit shack swayed as he blinked, trying to focus. Looking up, he saw against the roof of the Shrieking Shack the faint online of brows framing those green eyes furrow with shock and fear, just like he last remembered them, on the night before he pushed Lily Evans lids to an eternal close before he broke down into a heap, sobbing, by her side.

Harry Potter, the son of Lily Evans and James Potter, a living manifestation of their love. Snape had long resigned from punishing the kid for the outcome of his own shortcomings. The Boy Who Lived, whom he's always seen as a trophy of his failure, now became his only hope at any redemption. Snape tried to lift his arm, which now felt like a separate entity—limp and heavy, every nerve so deprived of oxygen it took him twice as much willpower and strength to put his wand to his temple, to unravel and draw out the memories he so fiercely protected all through the winding course of his life.

As each silvery strand of the neglected past stream out of his temple into the safety of a bottle Harry was holding out, Snape saw his life unfold before him—the forlorn child, the hopeful friend, the outcasted youth, the triumphant potion student, the mocked professor…But beneath the multitude of scenes, he felt the emotions—disappointment, hope, happiness, betrayal, love, jealousy, grief, guilt, contentment…rush through every bone in his body, streaming through every nerve, filling each muscle with such speed and vitality that Snape no longer felt the searing pain that had penetrated his entire body a second ago. The stiff floorboard of the shack now felt like cushions filled with down, his body felt light and his joints seemingly agile, rid of all aches and discomforts. The memories that left his head moments ago now swam through his body, belonging still _to_ him, but not _of_ him...

In that moment, the trust he placed in Harry, whose green eyes once belonged to a girl, the only person in his life, who both accepted and betrayed him, earned him redemption in Lily's heart, setting him free. All his unfulfilled aspirations, unuttered confessions, burdening responsibilities, now lifted off from his head like a shroud, revealing a face, calm as a sleeping child's. His usual snarl rightfully replaced by lips, subtly turned up at the edges--the most Severus Snape can do for a genuine smile.

**A/N: yay! I'm done. Just thought I'd write something as a closure for Snape, the professor most of us hated, whose actions were never justified…who never seemed to have a friend…I wanted to write about his memories too, but I'm not too sure…its still under construction in my head, heh…tell me what you think!**


End file.
